


transgressions against the multiverse

by TrasBen



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Child Dream, Dreamtale Dream (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare (Undertale), Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, Killer | Something New Sans (Undertale), a little bit of angst doe, carving, non-verbal dream, you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrasBen/pseuds/TrasBen
Summary: It's Killer's job to notice things.Today it's the similarities between Dream and a certain waterfowl.[takes place in the same universe as "beauty and the brother"]
Relationships: Sans & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 81





	transgressions against the multiverse

It takes Killer a really, _really_ embarrassingly long time to realize that there’s somebody at the door. 

He’s usually pretty good at noticing things like that.

Maybe it’s his own paranoia or just practice after years of being what he’d like to consider Nightmare’s right-hand-man. Either way, he’s extremely good at his job. Whether it’s by recognizing patterns of footfall or sensing intent due to his own soul’s compromised state, Killer’s an expert at knowing the _who_ and _where._

Usually.

Somehow, though, the sound of his door creaking open had escaped him, along with the soft breaths of the tiny skeleton standing just close enough to peak in from outside. Giant golden eye lights focused on Killer’s hands, tiny phalanges gripping the door frame.

Killer has to crack a smile at that. Dream doesn’t even realize he’s been caught, too busy looking at the chunk of wood he’s been whittling down for the past thirty minutes or so. It’s taking the shape of something that looks kind of like a bird, with small feet and an angle that could be a beak with some work.

“hey, little dreamer.” Killer calls out softly, trying not to startle the poor kid.

Dream’s bones jump anyways as he turns those big lights to Killer’s face. It’s hilarious, but Killer restrains the urge to laugh and pats the space on his bed next to him. “come here, no need to sit outside.” 

Despite the plain encouragement, Dream hesitates in his spot. Killer can just imagine his little feet doing that small shuffle that they do when he’s thinking about something too hard. Who knew that kids could be fun?

Obviously, there’s the hazy memories of raising Papyrus, but back then Killer wasn’t too focused on the fun aspects of being a ten year old forced to parent an infant sibling.

But Dream is fun. 

_Really_ fun. Always getting into trouble, trekking around a mess with him wherever he goes, dancing and laughing and trailing after anyone who’d give him the time like a little lost duckling looking for his mama duck.

Dream breaks when Killer inclines his head a little, a short nod to urge him along. His bare feet make little clacking noises against the hard wood of the floor. Dream sort of floats in, body hidden by the large blanket he’s pulled over himself. He must have been hiding it behind the door. Now, though, he scrambles onto the bed and pulls it around himself tightly.

Killer can’t help a small chuckle, then. Dream presses himself into Killer’s side. Hard enough that Killer wonders if the kid’s trying to get them to fuse together.

He looks so intent, staring at Killer’s hands as if silently requesting him to continue. Dream doesn’t make a noise beside his short breaths, which sort of confirms Killer’s thoughts.

The kid has non-verbal streaks, although, he usually sticks by Nightmare when they hit. Killer can’t imagine what type of energy it takes to be as bubbly and loud as Dream is. It makes sense that he’d spend a day or two out of the month retreating into himself a little and taking a small break to recharge.

Like a little battery.

But Killer’s still thinking of Dream’s resemblance to a baby duck. Soft and downy golden feathers. Little feet that pitter patter along.

He feels the weight of the wood in his hand and gets caught up in a burst of inspiration.

“dream-boat,” He grabs Dream’s attention with just that little nickname. “come here, you wanna watch, right? i gotta front row seat.”

Killer pulls his legs up and pull them into a sort of pretzel shape to make a seat for Dream, who quickly takes it with a small smile. He’s so eager, in fact, that Killer nearly gets the wind knocked out of him when Dream all but jumps into his lap.

Thankfully, the blankets provide pretty good cushioning, so Killer’s ribs don’t ache from bone-on-bone collision.

_“oof,”_ it still forces a noise out of him anyways, which devolves into a short chuckle, “breakin’ my bones out here, kiddo.”

Dream responds with a few breathy giggles, too quiet to be heard from anywhere else than right there. Killer’s soul might pulse with something soft from where he’s got it tucked behind his shirt to protect it from any (unlikely) stray movement of his knife. As it is, he just gives Dream a small noogie before picking his tools back up.

Dream squirms and makes another giggling noise.

Killer rests his chin on top of Dream’s skull, having to hunch over to do so. He needs to have a good eye on the wood and his knife, which are squarely in Dream’s lap as Killer pseudo-hugs him.

Maybe he’d be more worried if Dream hadn’t gotten the whole lesson on knife safety back when Nightmare first realized it might be a problem. 

The castle isn’t exactly up to _OSHA_ standards, by any means, and even further from being kid proofed. The room with maces hanging from the ceiling was practically sealed off for the foreseeable future, along with the cellar and all of its questionable contents.

But Dream knows at least not to touch knives, especially when they’re in somebody else’s hands. And Killer’s good at this, too. He’s too careful to get Dream hurt with a careless swing of such a dangerous weapon.

He knows exactly _how_ dangerous it can be, after all.

Once they’re both settled, Killer gets back to work carefully shaving the wood down. He starts back with the beak, a flat little bill-shaped thing, thinking of how large he can realistically make its eyes.

Dream’s got the biggest little sockets Killer’s ever seen. It’s probably just the fact that he was modeled after Underswap Sans (a hard-won secret he’d learned from Nightmare himself), but he’s definitely a cutie.

He makes the eyes pretty large, in the end. If Killer cared to turn his steady hands to painting he might spend extra time putting sparkles in them to match the way Dream’s eye lights glitter when he’s offered even a small gift. With all the thanks he gives, you’d think nobody had ever given him anything in his life.

Which might be accurate. Killer knows a little more about the twins’ past; he knows that they’re supposedly some sort of tree spirits, he knows they grew up alone in a village full of questionable others. He knows Dream was something of a people-pleaser, a behavior that bled into his service to the multiverse.

And he can see it in the way Dream always offers up his entire self when he helps with anything, that the kid’s very used to _giving_. Killer can even see it in the way Nightmare provides for them all without a word of reciprocation beyond their unwavering loyalty. 

Perhaps being starved of so many _things_ had caused them to both turn to gift-giving as a love language, but Killer doesn’t know anything about _that._ He’s just a murderer, a thief, and a spy. Seeing as he’s betrayed his fair share of friends, family and strangers, you can also safely add “traitor” to his list of transgressions against the multiverse.

But he’s witty. He’s good with his hands. He’s got a _very_ loose set of morals.

Killer’s far past denying himself happiness just because he’s a bad monster. The universe can suck it up and come after him itself if it wants his marrow so badly, or else everybody else can just shut up.

And Dream might be just the exact opposite. Killer’d stepped on his worm once and the kid cried for a whole day after. He drinks apple juice and looks at Nightmare, at _any of them_ , like they’d hung the moon and the stars just so he could look at them forever with those big eye lights of his.

He’s the epitome of what _good_ should look like, but he’s also the kid that tried to turn the bathroom into a sandbox, armed with nothing but a tiny bucket and a whole lotta determination.

Dream is a treasure in his own right, something that they probably don’t deserve. He’s something to be protected. Hidden away in a castle surrounded by eternal night. A story that’s been rewound to the start, and Killer is just along for the journey.

Knowing that Killer’s just a side-character to the inner workings of the multiverse is comforting, like the accidental nick of his knife against his thumb as he works. The duck is starting to take shape, its plump and fluffy body emerging from the wood with two feathery wings.

Dream still hasn’t moved. If Killer couldn’t hear the monotone humming, a mindless little habit of Dream’s, he’d think he was asleep.

There’s no destiny waiting for Killer. He’ll die just like he lived, probably hated by most of the people he’s met. Maybe it’ll be slow. Maybe it’ll be painful.

But it won’t be important and that’s enough.

Finally, Killer reaches the little feet of the duck. He’s exceptionally careful with the thin sections of wood, not wanting to accidentally snap the legs off and ruin the whole project. Dream is fidgeting more now, seeing the little bird that Killer’s conjured up over the past hour or so since he’d joined. 

When Killer is _completely_ done, he sets the knife down somewhere it won’t be a danger to Dream, swipes the chips of wood that had gathered in their laps onto the floor, and holds up the duck for him to see.

Dream looks in awe at the figure, bringing up one small hand to brush gently against its head, as if petting it.

Killer grins wide. “ _quack_ ,” he imitates the abrasive call of a duck and quickly presses the beak to Dream’s nasal ridge before pulling it away.

Dream giggles loudly, reaching out for the duck again. But Killer holds it away with a laugh of his own, bringing it back down in short bursts to plant another ducky-kiss on Dream’s face with more quacks.

The feeling he gets when Dream’s giggles turn into small shrieks of laughter might border on hysteria, or mania, or one of those feelings that’s just a little too much. It makes him feel like he can lift a car or otherwise pull off something incredible, like do his own laundry.

After some time, Dream manages to pull the duck down from Killer’s grasp and hugs it tightly to his rib cage. The blankets pool around his hips as he bounces the figure up and down, making it walk and run.

Killer just sits back, using his hands as supports behind him, to watch bemusedly.

Then, Dream does something Killer doesn’t expect. He reaches up and presses the duck’s beak to Killer’s teeth. Killer’s in some sort of shock, so he doesn’t move when Dream does it again a few times, a slightly frustrated huff leaving his teeth.

At some point, Dream’s intent sparks something in Killer’s mind.

“quack.” He says, and Dream’s smile restores itself. Another clack of wood-on-bone and Killer indulges Dream again, “quack.”

Dream pulls the duck down and gives it a kiss, so Killer helpfully narrates, “quack.”

The duck kisses Killer’s cheek this time, “quack.”

By the time Killer sees what _time_ it is, he sobers up a little. “heheh, sorry, duckling, but i gotta do some grown up stuff.” He apologizes, shifting so Dream slides out of his lap. Grown-up stuff meaning, ‘intelligence mission on a fledgling universe’.

Dream pouts as he clutches the duck. His little brows are furrowed, his eye lights wide.

Killer sighs to himself.

“i’ll take you to big bro, what about that? you can show him your new little buddy.”

Dream lights up, throwing his little arms in the air, silently asking to be picked up. Killer indulges him, setting the kid on his hip and snagging his blanket on the way out for the walk to Nightmare’s office.

At this time of day, Nightmare would be in his study, but Killer isn’t too worried about bothering him. Especially with Dream on his hip.

He gives a cursory knock as warning before nudging the door open with his free hip. “afternoon, boss, i got a delivery.”

Dream laughs as Killer shifts to hold the smaller skeleton under his arms and out. Dream holds his own arms out towards Nightmare, who’s now looking up from his desk. With one tentacle, Nightmare easily takes Dream from Killer and deposits him to sit on a relatively clear area of the desk.

“You’re going out?” Nightmare asks softly.

“on your orders, boss man.” Killer replies easily. It’s easy to take orders. 

Nightmare levies him with a scrutinizing look before sighing and waving lazily. “Report back by tomorrow, please.”

“can do, and, uh….” Killer tries not to snicker as Dream pecks Nightmare with the wooden duck. He can tell Nightmare’s trying to pay no mind to it, at least not while Killer is in the room, but he can’t help but sigh when Killer speaks next. “quack.”

Another peck. “quack”

“You may leave any time.”

“alright, alright. seeya. _quack._ ”

Killer slips out of the room, feeling oddly light.

* * *

Nightmare sighs again.

His back hurts, and Dream hasn’t stopped with the incessant pecking. He’s got this expectant look on his face, like he wants Nightmare to indulge him the same way the others are prone to doing.

Perhaps if Nightmare kept up with is posture, he wouldn’t find himself in as much pain, but -

_Peck._

“Dream....” Nightmare says gently, hiding his rising ire.

_Peck. Peck._

All the annoyance suddenly drains out of Nightmare all at once. He sits back heavily in his chair.

He stares at Dream apathetically, who is now pecking his own face.

The smallest, _tiniest_ of grins quirks at Nightmare's teeth.

“.... Quack.”

Dream’s laughter sounds sweeter than the gentle chiming of bells, he swears.

**Author's Note:**

> in other news: i am inexplicably soft for killer
> 
> in other OTHER news: oh my god imagine baby dream with wings he IS a duckling
> 
> in other other OTHER news: whoever first said it was killer that carved as a hobby, i owe you my ENTIRE heart


End file.
